


Skin Hunger

by YellowMustard



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Boys In Love, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff, Hand Jobs, I'm ashamed of myself, M/M, More filth, Oral Sex, PWP, Sex, Touch Deprivation, Touch-Starved, Tree Bros, but it's really mild and subtle, connor being a tease, evan being a tease, evan is a cheeky lil shit, i'm trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-06 10:24:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20505419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowMustard/pseuds/YellowMustard
Summary: "OK. So I was reading this thing about like. Touch deprivation? And I think the reason sex with you is just... so overwhelmingly good…" says Evan, and his face grows even warmer under Connor's fingertips, "...is that we're both just really fucking touch starved."(OR: Evan has a theory. Connor's determined to prove him wrong.)(Welcome to more YellowMustard porn, I'm a menace and I'm not sorry about it)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ....No, The Collie is NOT done yet, I'm sorryyyyyy. I've hit a bit of a block with the last chapter but I swear it will get a proper, happy epilogue!
> 
> But. Anyway. Here's, um. This. Whoops.
> 
> Set in the same porny universe as Butterfly Soup/All the Stuff/Everything.
> 
> No TW: just a whooole fic of foreplay and a blow job.
> 
> https://theyellowestmustard.tumblr.com/
> 
> Love you guys! xoxoxo

* * *

Connor Murphy says some pretty weird shit in bed.

Not like, during. Once he and Evan get rolling, Connor's not much of a talker at all, actually. He's all soft breaths and fluttering, trembly cries. When Evan touches him, words melt into letters, and letters to lines and squiggles and dots, and then those all just fizzle out into the stratosphere, and Connor's left with nothing but noises.

Evan's never seemed to mind much. 

In fact, he'd once told Connor, in a mumble and flushed bright red, that he makes "the absolute fucking best noises on the planet, oh my god.”

So.

Yeah.

But afterwards…

After it's like Connor's just got no filter. Like the squiggles, the letters, the words have filtered back in and reformed in his head, but they're all out of order and wonky. Like whatever mechanism that stops his impulsive thoughts from just bursting out of his mouth has rusted shut. 

Connor's aware of it, too. It would be impossible not to be. He knows he's...weird. That he says weird things. Not just weird, but sometimes just completely out of the blue.

But Evan doesn't seem to mind about that, either. 

There was that time when Evan had sucked Connor off, lying between Connor’s legs, sprawled out on his stomach on Connor’s bed, and it had been fucking awesome. 

But afterwards...

Afterwards Connor had just...immediately gone on a rant about Jackson Pollock, about how people shit on his art, and everyone says that a three year old could do it, but he actually uses color and line in really innovative ways, and _ no _ Evan, Connor’s _ not _an art snob, he just hates it when people don’t appreciate talent.

Or that other time, an hour or so after they’d finished, when they’d both been lying half-awake, and Evan had been absently running his fingers through Connor's hair, and Connor had blurted out, "When’s the last time you had French toast?”

And in response to Evan's bemused expression: "Shut up, I just. Haven’t had French toast in like. Years. We should have French toast.”

Or the time Connor had prodded Evan awake the following morning, and apparently his brain was still completely blissed out a full ten hours later, because when Evan opened his eyes Connor had immediately just said, “I wanna get a pen and connect up all your freckles. How cool would it be if they spelled my name?”

And that time, right after their first, when Connor had insisted on discussing the metamorphic process of butterflies. Butterfly soup.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a minute later, or an hour later, or the following morning. Point is; Connor Murphy’s really bad at pillow talk. 

So it takes Connor by surprise when, in the stillness and quiet of Evan's bedroom at five in the morning, Evan rolls over to face him with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, and says:

"So. I've got this theory."

It's just. Such a Connor Thing To Say, cryptic and out of the blue, and somehow a little cheeky, and Connor instantly props himself up on his elbow and gives Evan his full attention.

"Yeah?" Connor prompts, and he can't properly see it in the dim blue light of early morning, but he can tell that Evan's blushing from the way something in his eyes shifts and flickers.

Connor wants to touch his cheeks to see if they're warming.

Heidi's not due home until around nine, a night class followed by a long, long shift, and they'd been enjoying having the house all to themselves.

_ Really _ enjoying it. 

And somehow in the eleven-hour haze of fuck, sleep, snuggle, repeat, with the occasional cuddle-and-watch-vine-compilations-on-Connor's-phone thrown into the mix, they've ended up both awake at five in the morning, fingers intertwined as they listen to the calming patter of rain against Evan's window.

Connor's thinking about the conversation they'd had about moving into their own apartment before college starts up again after break, the plans they've made, the fact that soon, _ soon _, they'll be able to do this uninterrupted, whenever they want. 

He feels happy anticipation uncoil within him at the thought.

Connor returns his attention to Evan, and decides fuck it, he has to know for sure if he's blushing, so he brushes his fingers over Evan's cheek and sure enough, it's hot to the touch.

Evan closes his eyes briefly at the contact, but won't allow himself to be distracted for too long.

"Yeah," he says. "A theory. About why sex with you is so good."

He's still looking at Connor in the semi-darkness with a teasing glint in his eyes, and Connor's not sure if he wants to laugh or attack him with kisses or...

"OK," Connor grins. "OK, I'd be interested to hear this theory."

Evan grins back.

"OK. So I was reading this thing about like. Touch deprivation? And I think the reason the sex is just... so overwhelmingly good…" says Evan, and his face grows even warmer under Connor's fingertips, "...is that we're both just really fucking touch starved."

Connor snorts at this.

"_ Touch starved. _Shut up, Ev, that's not a thing."

"It _ is _!" Evan insists, sounding indignant and almost offended at his wonderful theory being blown off so quickly. "They've done studies and stuff. Touch is like. Weirdly important for mental health. And physical health, too; doctors are still trying to figure out why.”

Connor still has his fingers pressed against Evan’s cheek. He likes feeling the muscles twitch around the words in his mouth as he talks.

“And,” Evan continues, “and for people who don’t experience a lot of physical contact, even little touches, like holding hands or a hug or whatever, can feel like. Huge. And cause really emotional responses. Because humans need touch, for whatever reason.”

“Uh-huh,” says Connor, unconvinced. 

Because obviously the real reason they have good sex is that Connor is _ skilled _, but whatever. Go off, Evan.

“And,” Evan pushes on, undeterred by Connor’s lack of enthusiasm, “who would be more starved for touch than the two of us? I mean, really? Two awkward loners with pretty absent families? We’re like...textbook touch starved.”

Connor scoffs at him.

“You’re dumb,” he says affectionately, poking Evan’s flushed cheek. “We’re just...good at sex, that’s all. I mean, we’ve had plenty of _ practice.” _

And the embarrassment is suddenly too much for Evan to handle, and he rolls and buries his blushing face in his pillow with an agitated little groan.

“But it’s been like that since the _ first time _ though! Before the...the _ practice. _ Who honestly has a first time that’s _ good _ ? Like. That doesn’t _ happen, _Connor.”

Connor laughs, because Evan is Stupid And Very Cute, and Connor adores him.

“And it would also explain why, like…”

Evan trails off, seeming suddenly awkward and shy and unsure of how to continue. His face is still smushed into his pillow.

And Connor’s really curious now. What the hell is Stupid And Very Cute trying to say?

Connor prods him in the ribs to get him to continue, and Evan jolts.

“Why, like...you’re so ridiculously sensitive when I touch you?” 

It comes out hesitant, halting. Like a question.

Connor feels his own face beginning to heat.

“Not as much as you,” he finds himself muttering defensively.

Evan scoffs in disbelief.

"Uh, way more than me, actually."

"Fuck off, no way--"

"Yes way, sometimes I barely even have to do anything, and you react like I've just--"

"You're full of shit, Ev."

“You _ do! _ Sometimes I’ll barely even _ touch _you, and you’ll, you’ll like--”

“Not even _ remotely _ true, but whatever boosts your ego, I guess.”

Connor’s not sure why he’s being so snarky about this whole thing. 

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t like the implication that he’s _ delicate _ , that he’s _ vulnerable, _because vulnerable means easily manipulated, easy to control. But Evan hadn’t actually said that, and Connor’s probably just doing that thing he always does where he over-analyzes way too much.

Or maybe it’s just the whole societal thing. Toxic masculinity. Men shouldn’t be _ sensitive, ugh _. Connor hates that bullshit, but he knows he’s not immune to it. It’s kind of ingrained in him. He blames Larry.

Or maybe it’s because deep down, he knows that Evan is right.

Connor is absolutely fucking _ weak _for Evan. 

And apparently, Evan _ knows _it. 

Shit.

Evan props himself up on his arm, mirroring Connor’s position, and smirks at him. There’s a devious glint in his eyes, and he’s looking at Connor like he’s just posed him with a challenge; a game, one that he’s determined to win.

He’s rosy-cheeked, still somehow bashful beneath the flirtatious, knowing look, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

And Connor is absolutely fucked.

But there’s no way he’s about to let Evan know that. Not a chance. He’s far too stubborn for that, and he’s not going down without a fight.

Connor flops flat onto his back, rolls his eyes, then closes them, trying to look as unaffected as possible. 

But then, because his eyes are closed, it takes him by surprise when his suddenly feels the feather-light brush of fingertips against his bare shoulder.

His eyes instantly snap open, and he watches Evan warily.

Evan has a far-too-innocent smile on his face, simply observing the path of his own fingers as they drag, unfairly gentle, back and forth across Connor’s shoulder.

“What are you _ doing _?” 

Connor hadn’t meant for the question to come out quite so gruffly, but at least it hides the sudden croakiness of his voice.

“Nothing. Barely even touching you, really. I mean, since you’re nowhere _ near _ as sensitive as _ me _, I’m sure this wouldn’t like...affect you, or anything. I’m surprised you even noticed, to be honest.”

So. OK. 

This was how Evan was going to play this game. OK. Fine.

Connor sets his jaw, and looks straight up at the ceiling.

“Barely did notice, actually,” he says, snidely. “Sorry if you were expecting me to come from having my fucking shoulder touched."

"Of course not," says Evan placatingly, but Connor detects the thick layer of smug satisfaction underneath.

The gentle fingertips against his shoulder begin trailing down the inside of Connor's arm, all the way down to his wrist.

Connor attempts to subtly suck in a breath and hold it without Evan noticing.

He's pretty sure he's succeeded, because Evan doesn't say anything, but that's not important anyway, because Evan is dragging his thumb along the tender skin of Connor's wrist, along the silvery white scars that are probably never going to completely disappear. 

Then he shifts to Connor's hand, stroking soft, slow circles into his palm, then sliding along each of Connor's fingers, one by one, all the way up to the tips, so light Connor barely feels it. 

Pinky, ring, middle, index, thumb.

And Connor's not going to do it, he's not going to fucking do it, because who the fuck _ moans _ from having their fucking hand touched? Not Connor. Definitely not Connor. It doesn't even feel _ that _ fucking good, really. In fact, Connor's kind of bored.

Evan repeats the motion; pinky, ring, middle, index, thumb. 

Slowly.

Connor bites down hard on the inside of his cheek.

"You OK there?" Evan teases. "You look kind of tense."

And Connor rolls his eyes and goes, "I’m fine.”

And he tilts his chin challengingly.

And fuck, fucking shit, he realizes instantly that he really shouldn't have done that, because Evan's eyes narrow, and twinkle with amusement, and he looks even more determined to prove his point. 

To make Connor break.

“Good,” says Evan mildly. He pulls his hand back, and Connor successfully swallows back a whine of disappointment.

He's still winning.

Evan's fingers begin stroking down Connor's neck, towards his collarbone, and it takes every ounce of willpower Connor has to stay still. He fights the urge to fist his hands into the sheets, because Evan is watching his every reaction.

And then Evan dips his head and presses a tiny, chaste kiss against the skin just below Connor's ear. Barely a peck. 

Connor doesn't make a sound, but he can't stop his skin from immediately breaking out into goosebumps, all over his entire body, the backs of his arms and his shoulders and all the way down to his legs. He keeps his expression carefully neutral, and focuses all his brain power on his trying to shrink the goosebumps away through sheer force of will.

Evan doesn’t notice this new development straight away, because his mouth is still hovering near Connor’s neck, and the sensation of warm breath against Connor's skin does nothing to help the situation. The lips creep up up up, at a snail’s pace, until they graze the shell of Connor’s ear, and no, _ no _ , Connor’s not going to move, he’s not going to give Evan the satisfaction, he’s _ not. _

Connor shivers.

Evan pulls back a little, notes the movement, eyes Connor’s goosebumps.

“Cold?” he asks, nonchalantly, and Connor kind of wants to punch him, and he kind of wants to kiss him, and he kind of wants to do other unspeakable things to him.

“Freezing,” Connor mutters, and Evan snickers, and his fingers press against Connor’s throat.

“Hm. You don’t _ feel _ cold,” says Evan, and he’s right; Connor’s skin is blisteringly hot beneath Evan’s hand. Connor shrugs in response, trying desperately not to lean into the touch.

Evan drops his head again, nuzzling against Connor’s neck, dangerously close to his earlobe.

Connor squeezes his eyes shut.

“Hope you’re not getting sick,” Evan murmurs into Connor’s collarbone, and before Connor can even really register what’s happening he’s shuddering violently, and it’s completely involuntary and why the fuck is he doing that, what is going on with his neck right now holy shit is that Evan’s _ teeth? _ Fuck fuck _ fuck _.

Evan’s mouth quirks into a smile, and Connor feels it against his skin rather than seeing it.

Shit. 

Evan: 1, Connor: 0.

A minor lapse. 

But Connor’s fine, now. He’s fine. He’s not gonna screw up again. 

He’s not.

He thinks. 

He’s pretty sure.

He stares at the chipped paint on Evan’s ceiling, trying to pick out shapes. Like watching clouds. It’s a good distraction.

But then Evan sinks both hands into Connor’s hair, trailing his fingers through it gently, just barely grazing Connor’s skull. Connor locks his jaw, his knees, his spine, rigid and unyielding, but Evan is relentless. He just keeps going and going and going, tangling his hands in Connor's hair, sliding his fingers around leisurely, taking his time. He's giving Connor this cheeky little 'I could do this all day' kind of look, eyes bright and cheeks flushed pink, and Connor marvels at Evan's remarkable ability to somehow look shy and yet unbelievably fucking cocky at the same time.

Connor focuses. He counts, in his head, _ 1...2...3… _ thinking any moment now, Evan's going to give up. He's going to get tired of this, of playing this stupid fucking game, and he’ll stop. 

_ 4...5...6… _

Connor doesn't have to beat him, just outlast him.

_ 7...8...9... _

There's the sudden gentle scratching of nails against Connor's scalp, and a whimper slides out of him before he gets a chance to reel it in. He squirms helplessly, suddenly acutely aware of how fucking hard he is, and judging by Evan's suggestive smile and the not-so-subtle little up-down he gives him, he’s noticed too. He tugs lightly on Connor’s hair, and Connor finds himself whimpering again.

Evan chuckles.

Damn it.

Get it the fuck together, Connor.

"What's wrong?" Evan asks innocently. His hands slip out of Connor's hair and begin their decent down his chest, far too light and torturously slow. "What's wrong, Connor?"

"Nothing," Connor chokes out, working hard to relax his vocal chords but still keep his moans at bay. "Nothing. Just thinking."

Which couldn't be further from the truth, because Connor is completely incapable of thinking right now, and can't actually recall a time where he's _ ever _felt quite this brain-dead. 

His skull feels numb and heavy, and his skin is on fire, all over, from the tips of his toes all the way up to fucking eyelashes.

He’s so hyper aware of his own skin, of each electrified nerve ending, that he swears he _ feels _it when a bead of pre-come slides slowly down the length of his dick. 

Then another one.

Connor has never been this fucking turned on in his life.

Fuck.

"Thinking about what?" Evan asks, hands skimming along Connor's ribcage, along Connor's waist, and his stomach muscles jump wildly, uncontrollably, at the sensation.

"Just...current events. You know. Just..._ fuck, shit _…just uh. The wage gap. Cuts to um. To public education. You know…" 

Evan is stroking Connor's hipbones.

"You're shaking, Connor," Evan murmurs, and Connor's _ well aware of that, thank you Evan. _

"Yeah, well... serious things to be thinking about, you know? All of America should be shaking about this shit."

"Uh-huh," says Evan, and he's wearing the most shit-eating grin Connor's ever seen.

Connor's fine. He's _ fine. _

He's melting, and he's disintegrating, and his dick is throbbing and _ yes _ he's still shaking, and every time Evan moves his fingers, even a fraction, he hears his own breath hitch, but it's fine, he's _ fucking fine. _

He's not losing his fucking mind. He's _ not _. 

And then Evan presses his nails into Connor's hips and.

Well.

Evan: 2, Connor: 0. 

Hell, Evan: 200, Connor: 0, because…

Because Connor can't hold it in anymore, he just _ can't, _ and a long, drawn-out moan escapes him. His hips buck uselessly, once, twice, and he's still quivering all over, and he moans and moans and moans, desperate for something, _ anything, _ anything Evan's willing to give him, holy _ shit.  
_

Evan drags his nails down Connor's thighs, just hard enough to leave faint trails of raised, inflamed skin behind.

And unthinking, and sounding just... absolutely wrecked, Connor gasps, "Evan, Evan _ please--" _

Evan sits back on his heels, pulling away from Connor completely, and Connor is shocked to find an unsteady sob of frustration bubbling in the back of his throat. 

He fights to swallow it back, but his body has given up. 

His body is just so completely _ done _with his stubborn ass. 

The sob bursts out of him, choked and frenzied and _ loud. _

And shit, even Evan seems a bit taken aback at the sound, the unbearable desperation of it, his eyes widening ever so slightly, a stunned 'did I do that?' face.

Just for a moment.

Then a smug look of triumph settles over him instead.

"Huh," says Evan, and he's blushing and grinning so wide his eyes crinkle, and it's so fucking cute and somehow just obscenely fucking hot. "Guess you were right. You're not that sensitive. Sorry, guess I wasted your time."

And he swings his legs over the side of the bed, like he’s about to get up and just leave Connor there all alone, and Connor’s not in control of his own voice as he begs, _ actually begs, _ in a long, high-pitched whine, going, “No, no, nononono _ no _ , that’s not, that isn’t, come _ back, _ you've made your fucking point, OK? You’re right, you’re right you’re right you're right, just don’t _ go _\--"

"Oh, really?" teases Evan, and Connor responds with a strangled little noise of affirmation. "What am I right about, Connor?"

And Connor doesn't know, he doesn't even fucking _ remember _ , there had been a conversation, he knows that much, Evan had had some theory, or something, but right now he can't even think, he can’t even fucking _ think _\--

"I don't know," Connor whimpers pathetically, "I dunno, fuckin' everything, OK? Whatever you wanna be right about. Whatever you want, just, please Evan please, _ need you--" _

And then Evan's mouth is on his, capturing his lips in a blazing hot kiss, and his fingers are wrapping around Connor's dick, and Connor immediately dissolves into a puddle of helpless moans, most of which end up vibrating against Evan's lips.

"As if this was ever just about me being right," Evan gasps against Connor's mouth, and he bites down on Connor's bottom lip, slides his tongue into Connor's open mouth, and Connor just melts into it, fisting his hands in Evan's hair. "What, you seriously thought there was ever a chance I wasn't gonna get you off?”

Connor tries to respond, but what comes out is a garbled sort of noise that doesn't resemble any known word in the English language.

Evan tears his mouth away from Connor's abruptly, but before Connor can protest he's kissing his way down Connor's chest, over Connor's stomach, hot and wet and bruising, like he's done teasing and now he just wants to make Connor feel _ good. _

And it's working, it's absolutely fucking _ working _ for Connor.

He'll never admit it, but he's been practically teetering over the edge since that first little brush of fingers against his shoulder. He's not quite sure how Evan's managed to make the most chaste foreplay in existence the hottest fucking thing on the planet, but he decides he doesn't give a shit.

Because he suddenly feels the wet heat of Evan’s mouth closing around him, and he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about the loud, wailing cry of pleasure that tears out of him as Evan sinks his head down slowly, taking in as much of Connor as he can. 

Connor gently threads his fingers into Evan’s hair, and Jesus Christ he’s not going to last long, not with how pent up he already is, not with the way Evan’s doing that thing with his tongue and bobbing his head and moaning around Connor’s dick. Connor’s already writhing beneath him, lost in pleasure and aching heat, dangling over the edge of a precipice. All the sounds he’s been biting back are suddenly bursting out of him, and his breathing is labored and growing more ragged with each passing moment. 

_ “Love you love you love you, fuck--” _ Connor manages, followed immediately by , _ ”Evan, fuck I’m gonna--” _

He tries to pull away, but Evan clings to his hips, holding him in place, and he kind of swallows around him, throat tightening, and Connor’s gone.

He feels something inside him break and splinter, sending shards of pleasure through his whole body, so intense it almost hurts, so intense that for a moment he thinks he might fucking black out. He’s shuddering and moaning Evan’s name as he comes, hips rolling, and Evan only pulls away once Connor’s well and truly spent.

Evan shifts, moving up the bed to lie next to Connor, pressing gentle kisses along Connor’s arm on the way. He snuggles into Connor’s side, head against his shoulder; their go-to post-sex position.

Connor finds himself blearily glancing at the digital clock on Evan’s nightstand, and is simultaneously embarrassed and pleased that it’s only 5:22am.

Embarrassed because. Well. That whole encounter, from the first shoulder touch, had only taken like, twenty minutes. Less, really, considering the time the conversation took beforehand.

But pleased because…

Because 5:22am means that there’s still three hours and thirty eight minutes until Heidi gets home.

Give or take.

And this absolutely _ isn’t _over.

Connor rolls onto his side, jostling Evan off his chest, and Evan gives a little grunt of displeasure. 

His annoyance immediately dissipates when Connor ghosts the tips of his fingers along the length of Evan’s erection. His eyes flutter closed, and his breathing goes all shallow.

“You don’t have to--” he whispers, like he always does, and he always means it, too, which kind of still blows Connor’s mind; the fact that Evan never, ever expects reciprocation.

Connor draws back, and gives Evan a wicked little smirk.

“Oh, I know,” he says mildly, and he lets his eyes sweep over every inch of Evan's exposed skin, over his shoulders and down his freckled arms, across his chest and his stomach and his hips.

Evan swallows roughly.

“I know,” Connor says again, “But I seem to remember you saying something really interesting earlier? About touch deprivation? And I believe your theory was, and I quote, that we're _ both _ really fucking touch starved. Textbook touch starved.”

Evan’s eyes widen in understanding, and an odd little keening sound wobbles in the back of his throat.

“And,” Connor continues tauntingly, “It seems to me like we’ve really only tested out _ half _of that theory. I mean. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

Evan whimpers.

Connor leans in, brushes his lips as lightly as he can against Evan’s ear, and feels him tremble in response.

“Time to beat is twenty minutes, you absolute fucking asshole,” he murmurs into Evan’s ear. “Good luck.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan Hansen has a little white scar on his knee in the shape of a crescent moon. 
> 
> Connor's never noticed it before. He's kind of annoyed at himself about it, actually. He wants to know the story behind it, know how that pale sliver of moon came to be. 
> 
> He wants to know all the stories Evan's skin has to tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was ABSOLUTELY meant to be a oneshot, guys. But um. I'm a people-pleaser. And I had a few requests for a follow-up with a switcheroo, so. Here it is~~~~
> 
> I decided to keep it Connor POV because I felt like if I switched to Evan it would be...just the exact same story all over again. I mean, it still kind of is. Oh well. :PP
> 
> Hope this ticks all the boxes! Thank you for all the kudos and comments, you're lovely <3
> 
> TW: very mild and quick reference to Connor having self-harm scars. Also sex. Of course.

* * *

Evan Hansen has a little white scar on his knee in the shape of a crescent moon. 

Connor's never noticed it before. He's kind of annoyed at himself about it, actually. He wants to know the story behind it, know how that pale sliver of moon came to be. 

He wants to know all the stories Evan's skin has to tell him. 

Evan's knees are dotted with freckles and dusted with fine, blonde baby-hairs, and when he fully extends his legs this little crease forms in them like they're smiling at you. Happy knees. 

Connor's actually really enjoying getting up close and personal with Evan's knees. He sees them so rarely, is the thing. He's only seen Evan wear shorts a handful of times, and usually when Evan's legs are bare, Connor's...mostly focused on other body parts, to be honest.

Evan's knees seem pretty pleased to be getting to know Connor, too. They’re all rosy and warm to the touch, and the muscles jerk reflexively with every brush of Connor’s fingers. 

But, much to Connor's growing irritation, it's not enough.

He'd started at Evan's ankles, mimicking what Evan had done to him not half an hour ago. A feather light touch, slow and taunting, rubbing the ankle bone in teasing circles before moving up to Evan's calves with gentle, chaste kisses, dipping his fingers to press into the tender flesh at the backs of Evan's knees.

And _ yes _ , Evan's skin had turned pink, and _ yes _ the pale hairs on his legs are had stood on end...but that’s _ all _.

Evan has yet to make a sound.

Connor hasn't even heard his breathing hitch yet.

What the _ fuck. _

How the _ hell _ is he staying so quiet? When Evan had done this to _ him _, he’d been practically gasping to be touched within the first ten seconds. Where are all of Evan’s usual noises? His whimpering cries and heavy breaths? Those long, heady moans that are Connor’s favorite?

Connor can’t help but feel a pang of worry.

Is Connor just...not very good at this?

Has Evan just been humoring him all this time?

Connor perseveres, determined. He ghosts his lips over Evan’s knee once more, and the tips of his fingers begin a slow, steady ascent up Evan’s thighs. The muscles of Evan's legs quiver and jump under his fingers, under his lips, which he takes comfort in.

But other than that, Evan remains silent and motionless.

His breathing is shallow and light, and if it weren’t for the flushed skin, the thin layer of goosebumps, Connor might almost think him to be asleep.

Which is _ not _the reaction Connor’s going for. At all.

How the actual _ fuck _ is this not _ working? _

He hazards a quick glance up at Evan’s face, because he at least wants to see if his expression gives anything away.

And it doesn’t, because…

Because Connor can’t actually see Evan’s face at all. 

He’s not sure when and how Evan’s managed to do it with him noticing, but he’s piled a pillow over his face, and has both arms folded firmly on top of it, like he’s trying to suffocate himself.

And that is just...all kinds of bullshit, really.

"Um, fuck you, no?" Connor says, with a rising inflection on the end, like he's questioning Evan's audacity to break the rules, even though no rules have actually been laid out for whatever game it is they're playing. He reaches out to tug at the corner of the pillow. "What the fuck is this shit?"

Evan's arms tighten stubbornly, an unspoken assertion that he’s not letting go.

"Wait, don't tell me you already need something to hold on to?" says Connor mockingly. And then, smirking wickedly as he uses Evan’s own words; “I’ve barely even _ touched _ you.”

“No,” comes Evan’s voice from under the pillow strained and quiet. 

Too quiet. Muffled. 

Like...more muffled than it should be.

Evan doesn’t just have the pillow over his face. He’s biting down on it.

Connor’s not sure why, but the knowledge of that sends this warm, undefined feeling rolling down his spine. 

“No,” Evan says again, and it takes a concentrated effort for Connor to decipher the words around the mouthful of pillow. “No, I just. It’s like. A weight thing. See, I have this thing called anxiety, and...”

That cheeky little shit. 

“No way, you don’t get to play that card, _ no, _” Connor protests, unable to keep the outrage out of his voice. 

“Kind of insensitive of you, Connor,” comes Evan’s smothered reply, and Connor’s not sure if he wants to laugh or punch him. He winds up doing neither, just continuing to play tug-of-war with Evan, trying to wrestle to pillow away from him. Only, he doesn’t really want to pull too hard, because he’s pretty sure the fabric is still trapped in Evan’s teeth.

Connor gently pries the pillow away, just by an inch. 

Evan yanks it back. 

“I just. Need it. You know. For the anxiety.”

“...Uh-huh. Not for any _ other _ reason?”

Connor traces a few languid circles along Evan’s thighs, just to watch his fists tighten into the pillowcase, knuckles turning white.

“Nope,” says Evan, voice still smushed by the pillow. “I mean, like. I don’t know, um. What other reason there would be?” 

And. OK. 

Connor needs to up his game.

He can do that.

Evan wants to shove his face in a pillow? Fine. Connor doesn’t have any problem with a bit of negotiation. He’s a reasonable guy.

“OK,” Connor replies sweetly, pressing another kiss to Evan’s knee. “OK. I understand. I’d _ hate _to be the one to trigger your anxiety.”

“You’re so considerate,” Evan mutters dryly.

“Right though?" Connor’s fingers continue to creep up Evan’s thighs, and he notes with satisfaction that Evan's toes have curled. “Hey, here’s an idea. Since it would make you _ so _ anxious to be without the pillow, why don’t you just roll over?"

The pillow makes an odd, strangled little noise.

Then, almost timidly: 

"...Roll over?"

"Mm-hm," says Connor, and yeah, he's feeling more than a little smug right now. "On your tummy. I mean, that way you can keep your head in the pillow. And hey, if it's 'a weight thing', I could always climb on top of you. You know. For the weight."

And Connor knows that, in the quiet that follows, Evan's desperately trying to come up with an excuse, because Evan knows just as well as Connor does that he's fucking _ weak _for having his back touched. But he's talked himself into a corner, and Connor has him trapped there, and they both know it.

Slowly, silently, Evan rolls onto his stomach.

Connor manages to catch a quick glimpse of his face as he shifts positions, and he's so fucking glad he was watching. Because Evan's bright red, which is no surprise, but he’s also got this spaced-out, dreamy look in his eyes, and he's biting his bottom lip in anticipation, like he's excited about something but trying hard not to be.

It's unbelievably pretty.

Evan is just... unbelievably pretty in general. 

And like _ this _ he's just…

Connor has no words, honestly. His eyes roam hungrily over Evan's bare skin, taking everything in. Evan's freckle-dotted legs, the backs of his thighs, his ass (which Connor immediately just wants to grab because Evan has an objectively nice ass that Connor really likes grabbing), the small of his back, his shoulder blades, and the flat plain in between where Connor knows the skin is so gorgeously soft, and.

And Connor might be getting a little ahead of himself here.

Despite the fact that he’s literally _ just _come, his dick kind of twitches in interest as he rakes his eyes over Evan, and he shakes his head a little, forcing himself to refocus. 

Because that’s not how the game is played.

This is about Evan. Connor _ wants _it to be about Evan.

Connor wants to completely fucking _ break _ Evan. 

He sits back on his heels, amusing himself by lazily dragging a single finger up and down the back of Evan’s calf muscle for a moment. Evan’s goosebumps seem to become even more prominent, and Connor notices that after a few gentle up-down-up-down’s, Evan kind of drives his face harder into the pillow, wriggling his head back and forth like he’s trying to bury himself into the fabric. It’s seriously cute.

“You doing OK?” Connor teases, and he fucking _ hears _it when Evan forcefully swallows around the tension in his throat.

“Mm,” Evan mumbles vaguely, and Connor's got a hunch that he's avoiding giving a real reply because he doesn't want Connor to hear his voice shake.

And Connor really, _really_ wants to hear his voice shake.

Connor clicks his tongue in disapproval. His finger skates past the back of Evan's knee, begins slowly tracing over Evan's thigh.

"Not sure what that means, Ev. You're gonna have to use your words." 

The back of Evan's neck is such a dark shade of red it's almost turning purple. 

"I…" 

Evan trails off almost immediately, sucking in a deep breath as Connor adds his other hand, caressing the backs of both of Evan's thighs as slowly and gently as he can manage.

"I, uh. W-what was the question?" 

Connor feels a thrill of victory at the subtle, barely-there stutter.

He leans down, brushing his mouth over the shell of Evan's ear, which is also adorably rosy and hot against his lips.

"Are you doing OK?" Connor murmurs again, low and unintentionally crackly, and he feels Evan tense up, just ever so slightly, at his sudden closeness.

It seems like it's a genuine struggle for Evan to answer. He's gripping the pillow so tightly Connor's afraid he's going to dislocate a finger or something, and Connor doesn't miss the way he shifts, just a little, like he's trying to grind his hips into the mattress without Connor noticing, like he's _ that _ desperate for friction.

Connor's fingers are still trailing over his thighs.

"Yeah," he finally replies, sounding all breathy and unfocused, almost disoriented. "Yeah, I'm--"

Evan cuts himself off and lets out a strangled gasp as Connor swings a leg over and straddles him.

He makes himself comfy, sitting pretty much directly on Evan's ass, and Evan makes that not-so-subtle little rocking motion with his hips again.

And OK, Connor's definitely half-hard at this point. Because it's actually...stupidly fucking hot being on the other end of things; of getting to be the one that makes Evan just completely lose his mind like this. It's not something Connor even knew he was into, but he's...he's absolutely here for it, honestly. 

He presses his fingers against the back of Evan's neck, and begins slowly and methodically dragging them down his back, relishing every moment, because Evan's skin is beautiful, and oh my god it's so unbearably soft, and Connor is the only one that gets to touch it, and that's just...fucking unreal. 

And Connor knows. He knows that Evan will do practically anything to get Connor to touch his back. He's even been known to straight-up grab Connor's hand and put it there, looking up at him longingly until Connor strokes his fingers along his spine, making him sigh and melt into Connor’s arms. Connor's good at giving massages, too, so Evan says, though Connor's always a little iffy about them, because Evan always asks for (demands) bruising pressure, and Connor hates the idea of hurting him.

But for now, he keeps his touches light and fleeting, barely making contact with Evan’s skin at all. His hands wander from Evan's shoulders all the way down to the small of his back, and he tilts forward to press a kiss to the nape of Evan's neck as his fingers slide down his sides, stroking what he can reach of his rib cage, his waist.

Evan shudders beneath him.

Connor resists the urge to crow in triumph. 

And also, like. The urge to touch himself. 

Because Evan tries to do that thing with his hips again, and it's obviously not enough, because he lets out this soft little whine into the pillow, and fuck.

_ Fuck. _

Connor scoots down, sitting on the backs of Evan's thighs, just so he can drag his hands over the curve of Evan's ass.

And Evan fucking _ moans. _Beautifully.

He seems like he can't decide what to do with his hips; whether he wants to grind down against the mattress again, or push up into Connor's hands, and he ends up trying to somehow do both, rolling this way and that, his breath coming out in a series of stuttering, unsteady gasps, until Connor finally grabs both his hips to steady him, digging his fingers in hard.

Maybe he's also trying to steady himself. Just a little bit. 

But he'd never admit that to Evan, not in a million years.

They both still; Connor straddling Evan's thighs, Evan still holding onto the pillow for dear life.

He’s shaking.

"Connor," he whimpers, trembling and soft. _ "Connor…" _

Something in Connor spikes. Deepens. Snaps.

"Fuck," Connor groans, practically hurling himself off of Evan. "Fuck, roll over."

Evan hurries to comply.

And Connor finally gets a proper look at Evan's face since this whole thing started, and holy shit. He's flushed bright red and his bottom lip is raw and swollen, and looks almost close to bleeding from where Evan's been biting down on it, and his eyes flutter and roll helplessly beneath closed lids, and he's taking these erratic little breaths through his mouth, and he just looks so completely lost in his pleasure, floating, drowning, and fuck. Fucking hell.

Connor is quick to climb back on top of him, straddling him, kissing him messily and groaning into his mouth, eyes sliding shut when Evan fists his hands into Connor’s hair to hold Connor’s lips against his own. Evan clings to Connor’s hips as he tries fruitlessly to rut up against him, whining every time Connor draws back for breath, moaning every time Connor’s hard on rubs against his own, and his sudden urgency is completely fucking contagious.

“Oh my god,” Evan chokes out. “Oh my god, _ Con--” _

Connor’s mouth drops to Evan’s neck, his collarbone, his hands sliding over Evan’s skin, touching him fucking everywhere, everywhere he can reach.

Everywhere except...

“Connor, fuck,” Evan whines, “Connor, _ please--” _

And Connor really _ really _ wants to touch Evan. Or suck Evan off. Or ride him. Just. _ Something. _

But he’s not quite done with this whole game just yet.

“Please?” Connor rasps, hands still gliding smoothly. “You need to be a bit more specific, Evan.”

Evan lets out a strangled sound of embarrassment, flings his hands up to once again cover his face.

“I...I _ can’t--” _

“You’re gonna have to.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Tell me what you want, Ev.”

And maybe it’s Connor demanding tone, or the fact that Evan’s just at his absolute breaking point, but despite his obvious self-consciousness, he drags his hands away from his face and fixes dark, frantic eyes on Connor, and whimpers:

“Touch me. _ Please.” _

And like. Connor _ knows _ he’s just...being an asshole for the sake of being an asshole, now.

But he can’t help himself.

He looks down at his hands, where they’re still roaming all the fuck over Evan’s chest and stomach and hips and thighs, and, in a puzzled tone of voice, goes:

“...But I _ am _touching you?”

And Evan has had enough, he’s fucking _ done _, and with this guttural little noise of frustration, he’s suddenly yanking one of Connor’s hands and shoving it against his dick, manipulating his fingers to wrap around him, and Connor’s not sure why it’s so hot, seeing Evan desperately trying to take control back, but it is, it’s unbelievably fucking hot. And then Connor’s touching himself with his other hand, both hands moving in unison, and Evan is panting and squirming, Connor’s name escaping him in a needy gasp with every other inhale, and both of Connor’s hands speed up and Evan’s moaning and arching his back and still pleading incoherently and then he’s spilling into Connor’s hand as he chokes out Connor’s name. And that just fucking tips Connor over the edge and then he’s coming again, for the second time in like, less than half an hour, and he’s so overwhelmed, so overstimulated that he can’t even bring himself to make a sound, and his eyes roll shut and his mouth hangs open and Evan keeps a firm grip on Connor’s hips as they shudder together, warm and electric.

When Connor finally pulls away, rolls off of Evan and curls up beside him, Evan lets out this quivering, humming sort of sigh that Connor’s never heard before.

He glances over at him, and his eyes are closed, and he’s taking these deep, measured breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, like he’s trying to calm whatever frenzied feeling is still racing through his blood.

Connor knows they need to like. Clean up, and whatever. But for a long moment, all he can do is stare.

Because Jesus Christ, Evan is gorgeous. 

“So,” Evan eventually murmurs, sounding sleepy and dazed, and he blinks his eyes open and tilts his head to look at Connor. “Who won?”

And honestly, for a second, Connor has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about.

“Huh?”

“Who won?” Evan asks again, and he leans over and grabs a fistful of tissues and starts wiping his hand down, then reaches for Connor’s to clean him up, too. “You said, um. Twenty minutes is the time to beat?”

Connor can’t help the hoarse little laugh that bursts out of him, because Evan is just...fucking ridiculous. 

And apparently Connor is too, because suddenly he also really wants to know, and he finds himself craning his neck to look at Evan’s clock again, and…

“Eighteen minutes. I won. Fuck you.”

He drops back down next to Evan with a self-satisfied smirk, wrapping an arm tightly around Evan’s waist and spooning him, still grinning even as Evan scoffs and goes, “By like, two minutes!”

“Still counts. I won. Suck it.”

“What, again?”

And Connor keeps laughing, incredulously, because he’s still not used to Evan just dropping cheeky fucking comments like that, and he absolutely fucking loves it, because he _ knows _ that Evan would never say something like that around someone unless he felt completely and totally comfortable with them.

It makes his heart feel all funny.

Evan snickers too, snuggling into Connor’s arms, going, “I think it’s just too close to declare a winner. We need a do-over.”

Connor snorts at him.

He’d be lying if he said his mouth didn’t go dry at the idea of doing this again. 

The idea that Evan _ wants _to do this again.

“What, tonight?” Connor asks dubiously, and Evan giggles. He intertwines his fingers with Connor's, then tugs his hand up to his mouth to kiss each of Connor's knuckles, one by one, with such tenderness that for a second Connor thinks he might tear up, though he’s not really sure why.

“Definitely not,” Evan says, and Connor hears the amusement in his voice, feels the smile against the back of his hand. 

“OK, good. ‘Cause like. You've killed me. I'm dead now." 

"You better fucking not be," says Evan softly, affectionately. “That’s not allowed.”

And he flips Connor’s hand over and keeps on kissing, pressing his mouth delicately against Connor’s wrist, against each of Connor’s scars, heartbreakingly gentle, and Connor doesn’t just think he’s going to tear up, he actually _does_, blinking forcefully as he buries his face in the back of Evan’s neck, desperately trying to fight off the sudden wave of emotion, of absolute adoration he has for the boy in his arms.

And just as he’s managed to push the onslaught of tears back, Evan says, whisper-quiet:

“So, um. Thank you for like. Trusting me like that? I know we both kind of...played it off as a game but...I know giving up control like that is...kind of a whole thing for you, and um. It just. Means a lot. That you like...let me do that. I mean, like. Earlier?”

And, much to Connor’s mortification, stray tears are suddenly spilling down his cheeks, and he tightens his hold on Evan, because.

Because Evan just...fucking _ gets _ it. Evan gets that this wasn’t _ just _ a stupid fucking competition, and that Connor wouldn’t do something like this with anyone else, and...

Evan gets _ him. _

“Same to you,” he croaks, and he wishes he could find it in himself to say more, but he just...can’t right now.

“So, your um...” Connor pauses, clears his throat, tries to stop his voice from wavering. “Your touch-starved theory. You reached a conclusion on that, or…?”

“Depends. Have you?”

“It was _ your _theory.”

“I want to know what you think, too.”

“You first.”

“Same time?” Evan offers, and he counts one, two, three, and then, at the exact same time Connor says “I still think it’s bullshit,” Evan says, “I was wrong.”

And Connor...wasn’t expecting that, frankly.

“You...were wrong? Really?”

Evan shuffles, rolls over onto his other side so he and Connor are lying face to face in the pale morning light. He peeks up at him with this bashful little smile that Connor wants to like...preserve in amber forever. Or something.

“Yeah, I...um. Why do _ you _think it’s bullshit, firstly?”

Connor frowns. Bites the inside of his bottom lip.

“Well, I just...if sex is only this fucking good because we’re touch-starved, or whatever, then logically, doesn’t that mean that, like...eventually it’s not gonna be this good anymore? Like...we’ll end up not being touch-starved because of...all..._ this _, and then--”

Connor stops. Reformats. Tries to make sense of his thoughts _ before _he says them.

“I just...if your theory holds up, then that means that at some point, it’s not gonna...feel like _ this _ anymore. And that’s just...bullshit.”

Evan’s blushing. And looking at Connor with such undisguised affection that Connor just...has to kiss him.

But he quickly pulls back again, because….

“What changed your mind?”

Evan smiles, leans his forehead against Connor’s.

The tips of their noses touch.

“Because it’s...it’s just _ you _ . If it was just that I was like...needing touch, it would be like this with...with anyone. And that’s not...Like...it’s just ‘cause it’s _ you.” _

Connor hooks a leg over Evan’s hip, and holds Evan’s hand, brushes his nose back and forth against Evan’s, and he hopes all of that combined says the words that are kind of stuck in his fucking throat and won’t come out. 

And the last thought he has as he drifts off in that too-small bed, nestling into Evan’s arms to fight off the chill of the morning, is that he forgot to ask Evan about the crescent-moon scar on his knee. 

And, sliding fluidly between sleeping and waking, he thinks about asking him.

But it can wait until tomorrow.

Evan’s skin has told him enough secrets for one day.


End file.
